


This is all your fault

by Yatzuaka



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, unrepentant smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no plot. No reason this should exist, except tumblr made me do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The challenge is, can I write smut at work that doesn't make me want to eat my face?
> 
> Not sure, but here you go!

Weak. She is weak and lonely and has really poor impulse control.

He is poison. Or a drug. An addiction, definitely.

She stares for a long time at his door, telling herself not to knock, willing her feet to back away, to run down the hall. Her hand lifts and her knuckles rap firmly against the shiny paint, and she knows it is a mistake. It had been a mistake every single time.

When the door opens, he's standing there, shirtless, black pants slung low on those hips. He knows, of course he knows what that does to her, the display of tight muscles and smooth skin an invitation as surely as if he'd written it out on a card. 

There is still time to flee.

His eyebrow lifts and she pushes her way passed him.

"Here we are again," the smug bastard laughs as she tosses her purse and coat on a chair. "Thought you said that the last time was it? Never again, I seem to recall."

She tries unsuccessfully not to grit her teeth.

"I lied," she tells him, as she takes off her shirt flinging it somewhere behind her. She looks up at him, "Obviously," and slides her pants and panties off in one quick movement. 

He's behind her before she has a chance to react, just picks her up like it's nothing and tosses her on his messy bed. 

Niceties aren't really their thing.

He's seen it all before, has commented on every facet of her body at one point or another, but she's still oddly shy about being splayed out for him, so she pulls the sheet over herself, reaches for the lamp, thinking how much easier it would be to live with herself if she didn't see...

But he's crawling up the bed, grinning as he pushes the sheet up her legs, making a space for himself between them and her hand falls limply away before she can hit the switch. She shudders as he presses his lips to the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, his hands holding her open as he dives in. 

She cannot breathe. 

She refuses to look, but she can feel him smiling as he eats her alive. 

He keeps her there, holding her open while he licks and presses his tongue inside her. It's unbearable that he stops to whisper words into her skin, unthinkable that any of them are true, that she's lovely and beautiful and so good.

She comes without warning, a snapping bolt of pleasure like she's rubber band stretched beyond its breaking point, and she whimpers because of course he doesn't stop. He slides his lips and teeth across the wetness, glorying in the sopping mess he created until she gives in and screams his name. 

Her eyes were supposed to be closed, but at some point they'd opened, and she can't look away as he drags himself up the bed, caging her under his body, thighs spreading her wide under him. He reaches between them to undo his pants, sliding his cock out without bothering to pull them down. He plunges in, and she's so ready. 

It's harder to keep a healthy distance from all this when his face presses into the crook of her neck, when his cock pushes inside, when he breathes her name like it's life. She can't help that her hands stroke the curves of his ribcage, his ass. She can't help it at all, as his hips roll and snap and she's carried away on a wave made of his motions. 

He kisses her. 

She didn't expect that. They've never kissed before, which she realizes now has been an oversight. Or maybe not.

She could lose herself like this. 

It's too close, too intimate, way too much, so she pushes him until he yields and lets her roll on top of him. She looks down at him, the way his arm wedges against the headboard so he has more leverage to thrust up, to press deeper and deeper. His eyes glow bright green and her movements aren't graceful at all as his hand caresses the flare of her hip. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and he hisses a breath that might have been her name.

The orgasm spreads her thin as paper, thin as her inevitable excuses when she leaves and promises them both she won't be back. 

She thinks he came, but tells herself that it doesn't matter either way. She's not here for him. She's here for her.

She'd meant to leave right away, but she wakes up and it's not electricity lighting the room, it's dawn's first grey fingers creeping in. She's on her side, and he's on his, facing her. It's easier to be angry at night, but almost impossible when he looks at her like she means something. She didn't mean to stroke a hand down his face, didn't intend to pull him towards her so they can kiss again. 

They fuck like that, face to face, her leg slung across his hip, staring at each other. It's a dare, a game of chicken - who will come first?

It doesn't matter. In the end they're both gasping and panting the others name. 

 _Darcy_.

 _Loki_.

* * *

He is poison. He's a drug.

She can't quit him. 

He smiles at her as he opens the door, eating a popsicle, a look in his eyes saying, it'll be you next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, LTD is on its way. Just got distracted.
> 
> But how was I supposed to do anything else after these:
> 
>    
>   
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> I mean, please. We all know what was going to happen.


	2. Unfortunate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me pointedly ignoring all of my WIPs. (La la la!)

Once upon a time there was something like choice in her daily routine. Darcy didn't know what happened, how it changed. The depression she recognized ( _hello darkness, my old friend_ ), and knew it would warp and twist her thoughts. Didn't like to think that she wasn't in control of her own actions, even if it would make her feel better.

The truth of the matter was, she liked it. Hell, she loved it. It didn't require thought, or purpose, or anything at all really. She just showed up, fucked, and usually, she left. Except last night. 

Last night, this morning, the kissing, the sleeping... big mistake. Huge. Astronomically LARGE. It felt like something people would talk about. Normal people who didn't run at the first sign of icky feelings. 

Crapityshitfuck. _Feelings_. It was almost enough to make her break out in hives. 

Darcy still knocked on his door. 

No one should look that good eating a red popsicle. It just wasn't right. His lips were all stained and, holy sweet Moses, his tongue darted out to circle them, and her mind went blank, or red. It didn't matter. Did anything really matter? 

She lunged.

He tasted like fake, sugary cherry. She knew this because kissing was apparently now on the list of  _things they did_ . 

They didn't make it to the bed. Shit, they didn't make it two steps from the door. She'd never been as grateful for his strength as she was right then, held against the wall with her tights ripped apart and dangling in pitiful shreds somewhere below her thighs. 

Loki kissed like it was as necessary to him as breathing, like he'd never get enough. Darcy clung to his shoulders, nails biting into that perfect, pale skin, legs clenched around those skinny hips. It was fast and brutal and they both just took and took. She'd probably be one big bruise come morning. 

Their lips parted as he pulled back to gasp out his orgasm. Son of a bitch, she wasn't there yet, just a little bit more, a little harder, just... _there_. 

She slid down the wall, feet thumping on the floor. Looked up at him, flushed and beautiful like he had no right to be. 

Reality crashed back as it dawned on her that, shit, her pants were destroyed, and her underwear were, well, _gone_. Fucker looked proud, too, that all-knowing smirk on his face almost enough to have her running for the hills. Almost.

In for a penny, in for a pound. 

Her shoes came off easily, because even if her higher brain functions insisted that this was a bad idea, the king of bad ideas, the baser part of her still dressed for these encounters for the ease with which her clothing could come off. 

Maybe a skirt next time, though.

She'd have to figure out how she'd get back to her apartment without bottoms, but that was for later. Much later. It was for after she'd ridden him to orgasm at least twice more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to write something else and this happened. 
> 
> Still blaming tumblr ;)


	3. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has to make sure Darcy gets home safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, trigger warning for stalker adjacent behavior. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, feel free to skip it if you'd prefer.

Darcy Lewis has a tongue sharp as any of his blades. Her words flay the skin from his bones, shreds his armour, cuts the ties between sanity and insanity as easily as if it were a spider web. The easiest way to protect himself from them is convenient in that involves orgasms. Inconvenient in that somewhere along the line he's decided that he rather _likes_ her. She's brutally funny and horribly honest and in possession of the sort of beauty that becomes arresting the longer he stares.

It's not an easy place to be, halfway between her general contempt and her apparently insatiable need for sexual release.

Loki's shade follows her from a distance, hidden in shadows. His physical body sits in darkness in a room miles away, warm and comfortable. She can't know he's here, but she stops in her tracks abruptly, like he'd snapped a twig underfoot. Her nose wrinkles, she lifts her face and sniffs. A smile curves her lips like a whip as she continues walking. 

Her gait is purposeful - it doesn't set her hips to swaying. It's simply transport, intended to get her from one place to the next. His eyes trace her limbs, her legs steady pace, one hand wrapped around her purse strap, the other in her pocket. Her spine is straight and shoulders back. She slouches comfortably around the lab, but out here, Darcy faces the world with her chin up, at the ready.

She steals around a corner, gone from his sight. He draws in the darkness more completely, letting his shadow go a little more translucent. He's almost all mist now as he hurries after her. 

The circle of light surrounds her as she fiddles with the lock on the door. The squeal of hinges left too long without grease is loud even to his half-formed ears. He catches a draft to follow her silently inside before it closes behind her. She's already halfway up the first flight of stairs by the time he makes it inside. He knows her keys are still fisted in her hand. He follows her slowly, letting the sound of her footsteps echo above him.

He knows where her apartment is. He's been inside, many times, even if he's never been invited.

Her thick coat is already thrown across her sofa when he slips in from between the bottom of her door and the floor. The sound of rushing water from her small bathroom tells him that she's already showering away the signs, the scents, the leavings of their encounter. He's done what he had to - seen her safely home, though she's more than capable of doing so herself.

Loki should depart, but he doesn't.  

Letting the space between his atoms drift even further apart, he floats as inconspicuously as any dust motes through the escaping steam and lingers in a corner as she washes. Darcy steps over the side of her tiny bathtub, body wet and sleek. He'd gasp, but his corporeal body is still miles away, deep in a trance. 

She dries off. It's a quick and methodical swiping with a rectangle of cloth, but it's still mesmerising. The towel is tossed carelessly across the shower curtain rod before she wanders, totally nude, totally unselfconsciously into her bedroom. 

There is no excuse for his behavior. 

By any standard, he's overstepped his boundaries. 

With her sheets pushed to the side and a single light illuminating the curves he knows so well, she surprises him by rooting around in her nightstand. She draws out a slim device, and by its shape, he can guess its purpose.

He takes a second to wonder that she'd apparently not been completely satisfied, that she doesn't need to recuperate further, before she begins to pleasure herself. She's quiet, all half strangled sighs and whimpers bitten back behind clenched teeth as she presses the buzzing contraption around and on her clit. Darcy's fingers circle and pluck her left nipple as her eyes drift closed. 

She shudders when she comes, breath hitching up into a barely audible whine. The toy clicks off and her hands still as her lips curl upwards. Loki hovers over her, aware in mind, if not body, that somewhere across town, he's got yet another erection. He steals a last look at her, ready to allow the connection to this shadow of himself drop when her eyes slit open and she seems to look straight at him. Impossibly. 

"G'Night," she says, voice husky and dark, following him all the way back to his rooms.

"Good night, Darcy," he groans, fisting his length, bringing himself off in no time at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have WIPs? Huh.

**Author's Note:**

> Join the flurry of Tom Hiddleston gifs and Loki stuff on my [tumblr](http://www.yatzuaka.tumblr.com/). I'm only an angry feminist shouting VAGINA like 15% of the time.


End file.
